


Heart of Glass

by mysticanni



Series: Heart of Glass [1]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Homophobia, Humiliation, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Possibly Unrequited Love, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Assault, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 07:48:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20386201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticanni/pseuds/mysticanni
Summary: When Roger is attacked it is Crystal he turns to for help.





	Heart of Glass

**Author's Note:**

> Hello.
> 
> Please heed the warnings/tags and have a lovely day not reading this if you think it will upset you.
> 
> There is a slight mention of vomiting during the description of the attack, if that is something you need to avoid.
> 
> This doesn't fit into any Real Life timeline. I wanted broke, long-haired, 1970s Roger for this and I think I have mixed him with 1980s Crystal but as it is all pure fiction I hope it is forgivable.
> 
> I have given them the happiest ending I could manage, I promise.
> 
> There are dictionary definitions of the word crystal and lines from 'Heart of Glass' by Blondie sprinkled throughout. I always think this looks great when other people do it but I suspect it is yet another thing I am highly inept at.

When Freddie had re-named him he had researched his new name. He had gone to the library to look it up in a dictionary. In the reference section he had also noticed a baby-name dictionary and had checked that, too.

  
The baby-name dictionary had informed him that as a boy’s name Crystal had originated as a Scottish pet form of Christopher, which was rarely used now. Crystal suspected that Freddie had not realised that.

  
He had looked up Roger’s name too: famous spearman. Crystal never intended telling Roger that.

  
Christopher meant Christ-bearer. So, on the whole, Crystal thought that perhaps Freddie had done him a favour, despite the (many; unfailingly unfunny) jokes about crystal balls.

  
He had been re-named relatively quickly, or so he had been told by the others in the crew. Apparently Freddie didn’t make the effort unless he thought you would be sticking around.

  
Given that Crystal himself had been unsure if he would stay, he thought Freddie must have some kind of future-telling skills. Perhaps he had his very own crystal ball, because on that first day Crystal had been very unsure indeed.

  
He had been told to report to the record label offices to meet the band, minus the bass player because there currently wasn’t one, which rang slight alarm bells. Did it mean they were hard to work with? But you often got bands that needed to change the line up to get to the perfect mix. So he went to the meeting.

  
He had been introduced to Brian and Freddie first in a plush office with thick carpets and potted plants. Brian had accidentally stood on Crystal’s foot and had spent a great deal of time apologising, even after Crystal had assured him it was fine. Freddie had been....flamboyant seemed too tame a word, really.

  
The man he had been there to meet was absent. Freddie had explained that the record company were providing a car to take them to Roger’s place.

  
Crystal had considered not bothering. If his prospective boss couldn’t be arsed coming to the meeting he had presumably arranged then Crystal thought he was likely to be the sort of highly-strung diva he just wouldn’t be able to tolerate.

  
Freddie seemed to read his mind. (Perhaps this was the first evidence of his witchcraft.) ‘You will come and meet him, won’t you, dear? I think you might be the one!’

  
Crystal had shrugged. They were certainly different, and he liked different, plus he had nothing better to do. If the drummer was completely insufferable then he didn’t have to take the job. So he went.

  
*

  
Roger lived in a bed-sit out towards Kew under a flight path to Heathrow airport. It made Crystal’s own place look like Buckingham Palace in comparison and he thought briefly of the plush record company offices as Brian knocked on the door and entered without waiting for a reply.

  
A girl with long blond hair had her back to them as they entered the small room. ‘Rog,’ Brian called out, ‘we’ve brought Chris Taylor to see you. The new drum tech.’

  
The girl turned around and Crystal discovered that she was, in fact, a man. ‘Hello, mate, I’m Roger.’

  
He had the strangest voice Crystal had ever heard; high but gravelly at the same time. He was also clearly in the grip of a bad cold or ‘flu’. Yet even with a red nose, bloodshot eyes and lank hair, he was easily the most beautiful man Crystal had ever seen.

  
Had he fallen in love then? He wasn’t sure.

  
*

  
Roger was infuriating of course.

  
His refusal to wear his spectacles was particularly irritating.

  
‘One day, Rog, you are going to fall flat on your face in front of a camera because you are as blind as a bat and can’t see a damn thing without your glasses and you’ll look like the total idiot you are and it will be your own fault!’

  
‘Nah,’ Roger shook his head. He was sprawled across the rickety sofa in the dressing room half-dressed. ‘Someone always steers me.’

  
This was irritatingly true. Usually Brian was the one to catch Roger’s shoulder or arm and guide him off the stage.

  
‘They are enabling you,’ Crystal grumbled at his half-dressed (half-naked, but Crystal was not distracted by that at all, Crystal was a professional) boss.

  
‘Enabling me to do what? Look pretty? I look like a total nerd with my glasses on. And it is part of my job to look good.’

  
Roger sat up and reached for an apple from the fruit bowl. Crystal blinked, slightly hypnotised as he rubbed the apple along his jean-clad thigh to polish it. ‘Your job is to drum.’

  
‘He does have a point, dear.’ Crystal had not heard Freddie enter and wondered how long he had been there for. ‘It is part of his job to look pretty and he does look hideous with his specs on.’

  
‘Thanks, Fred,’ Roger said mildly indignant, through a mouthful of apple. ‘If it bothers you that much, Crys, then I could wear my prescription sunglasses?’ he offered.

  
Crystal felt that he had very much lost control of this argument. ‘You want to wear sunglasses; indoors; on stage?’

  
‘Very rock ‘n’ roll,’ Freddie approved. ‘There, dear, problem solved!’

  
And of course it played merry hell with their tried and tested non-verbal communications on stage when Crystal could not see Roger’s eyes.

  
‘But it was your suggestion!’ Roger exclaimed, when Crystal pointed this out.

  
He was easily the most infuriating, insufferable imp Crystal had ever worked with.

  
*

  
The other technicians didn’t spend as much time with their charges as Crystal did with Roger. Setting up the drum kit and tuning it took longer than tuning guitars or the piano. And Roger liked to know everything about everything and everyone. He fully expected Crystal to have all the crew gossip to pass on.

  
He also asked questions of Crystal. What is your favourite colour? Why is that your favourite colour? What is your favourite food? Why that? Was it a childhood favourite?

  
Roger’s questions were very different from Freddie’s which were along the lines of favourite sexual position. ‘Which isn’t a good question,’ Roger told Crystal, ‘if you want to get to know someone. Most people just tell him to fuck off and the few who answer usually say something like ‘missionary’ because they don’t want to be thought weird.’

  
‘I didn’t,’ Crystal informed him. ‘I said I hadn’t decided yet because I haven’t tried everything.’ He had been quite proud of that answer. Now, though, thinking about it: ‘Bloody hell, does that make me sound like a blushing virgin?’

  
Roger’s cackle did little to dispel his newfound fears on that score.

  
*

  
He was not sure where they were when he realised he had fallen in love with Roger. He thought it had been Arizona, perhaps, somewhere with sunshine, anyway.

  
They had been outside of the stadium the band was due to play that night. Crystal had been sprawled across a concrete bench which Roger was lying next to on a patch of grass. The sunshine was nice.

  
‘If I ever go bald,’ Roger said, out of the blue, ‘I’ll have all these little scars on my scalp, from when I had chickenpox as a kid. Mum told me not to scratch them, but I did scratch them there, where no one could see. Only, if I go bald they will.’

  
Crystal had grinned fondly at him and thought that he hoped he was still with Roger when he was old and bald, and that he could see the chickenpox scars. And he realised he was effectively hoping to grow old with Roger and that he was hopelessly in love with him.

  
Fuck.

  
‘I should’ve listened to my Mum more,’ Roger concluded sadly.

  
*

_  
Noun: crystal: highly transparent glass with a high refractive index: articles made of crystal: a collection of crystal._

  
His heart was made out of crystal glass, Crystal thought; a lump of glittering glass.

  
The first time Roger broke it was on that first tour of America. Unable to practise much in his bed-sit for fear of disturbing the neighbours, his hands were much too soft for the amount of drumming he had to do on tour.

  
The record company should have organised practice time in rented halls for the band prior to the tour, but that cost money, of course, and despite those plush offices there seemed to be very little money spent on, or given to, the band.

  
Roger’s soft hands blistered. The blisters burst. Crystal washed spit and lager and blood off the drum skins; washed blood from Roger’s hands and smoothed soothing ointment on to them and bandaged them. Roger did not complain. Crystal was proud of him.

His heart broke a little for him, though.

  
*

  
_ Noun: crystal: highly transparent glass with a high refractive index: a crystal chandelier._

  
Crystal was not sure who the party was for; someone’s birthday, he thought. One of the record label executives, maybe.

  
He had followed Roger up a little spiral staircase to a gilded balcony overlooking the pink marble expanse of the entrance hall below. There was an identical balcony opposite them, with a magnificent shimmering chandelier between them.

  
Crystal sipped from a champagne flute and looked at Roger, who had a dreamy look on his face. Crystal fondly imagined that Roger was mentally writing a song about this moment. Roger suddenly handed Crystal his own champagne flute and Crystal presumed that Roger was about to find something to write his idea down on.

  
He was prepared to find a pen and a bit of paper or a napkin. He was completely unprepared for Roger suddenly launching himself over the balcony, lunging at the chandelier and, with a jubilant yell, swinging from the chandelier across towards the other balcony.

  
Both champagne flutes slipped from Crystal’s grasp. The sound of glass breaking. His hands reached out towards Roger. He wished, not for the first time, that Roger was wearing toddler’s reins for him to grasp. He desperately wanted to close his eyes but seemed unable to; forced to watch as Roger swung precariously from the chandelier suspended much too far above the marble floor below for a happy ending if he fell.

  
He heard Roger’s delighted scream and waited for it to turn into a screech of blood-curdling terror as he dropped towards the marble. He heard Roger shout, ‘Catch!’

  
The chandelier had swung over closer to the other balcony by then. (And the whole incident must have been over in seconds, really, but felt like hours to Crystal.) Crystal could see Jim ‘Miami’ Beach looking ashen, reaching out his hands to catch Roger. Roger, who was so sure that someone would ‘catch!’

  
Miami’s hands locked around Roger’s arm and hauled him to the safety of the other balcony. Crystal breathed a sigh of relief and realised he had been holding his breath. He also realised that he was crying and quickly mopped his face with a handkerchief. All around him people were laughing and commenting on how daring Roger was and wasn’t he just so adorable?  
Crystal could see Miami shaking Roger and screaming at him across on the other balcony. He thought he understood exactly how Miami felt at that moment and he briefly considered leaving them to it.

  
But it was Roger. And he loved Roger. So he started to push through the crowd on his own side, hurrying down the spiral stairs and pushing his way between the people scattered across the marble floor below. He grabbed a couple of glasses of brandy from a waiter with a tray and then ran up the spiral staircase leading to the other balcony to find that Miami was still in full flow.

  
‘...could have been fucking killed, you bloody imbecile!’

  
Crystal thought that this balcony had been as packed as the other one when Roger had made his leap but now it was deserted apart from the three of them. Presumably everyone else had melted away when Miami, who was normally so calm and collected, had lost it.

  
Roger looked terrified. When he saw Crystal he looked relieved. ‘Miami, let him go,’ Crystal ordered. ‘I know he’s a bloody idiot but this isn’t helping.’

  
Miami gasped and released Roger, who stumbled towards Crystal. ‘S...Sorry,’ Miami gulped.

  
‘Here,’ Crystal handed Miami one of the glasses of brandy and reached out his other arm to Roger, who crept over to him and attached himself to Crystal’s side. Crystal could feel him shaking, whether from fear or adrenaline, he wasn’t sure; perhaps a bit of both. ‘You gave Miami a fright, that’s all,’ Crystal told Roger, kindly. ‘You scared me half to death too,’ he added.

  
‘Didn’t mean to,’ Roger mumbled. His face brightened. ‘It was so much fun, Crys! Flying must be a bit like that! I felt like I was in a swash-buckling film! I should’ve been a circus performer!’

  
‘Roger,’ Crystal took a gulp from his own glass of brandy, ‘when they do that kind of thing in a film, it is a trained stuntman that does it, and they have harnesses and safety nets AND IF YOU EVER DO ANYTHING THAT BLOODY STUPID AGAIN I WILL KILL YOU MYSELF AFTERWARDS!’

  
Roger looked truly distressed. ‘I didn’t mean to worry you, either of you, honestly and I’m sorry I did. I’m not sure I could promise not to do it again though...It just kind of happened...’

  
Crystal drained the brandy and reflected that he would have to get better at figuring out what Roger was thinking when he got one of those looks on his face.

  
Miami drained his glass of brandy too. ‘Circus performer!’ he scoffed. ‘One of the bloody clowns, maybe!’

  
*

  
The band and their entourage had commandeered a corner of the packed pub. Crystal weaved his way from the bar to their area, carefully avoiding spilling his pint. He scanned their corner for a seat and found nothing. He sidled towards Roger, who was, unusually, sitting on the edge of the group, mournfully contemplating the drink sitting in front of him on the sticky table.  
It was an amazing drink: lurid electric blue in colour; the surface appeared to be on fire. ‘What the hell is that, Rog?’

‘I don’t know,’ Roger replied gloomily. ‘Fred bought it for me. Do you think he’s trying to kill me? I can’t think of anything I’ve done lately to make him hate me,’ he sighed. ‘I don’t think its drinkable, Crys,’ he concluded sadly.

  
‘Wouldn’t advise it while there’s still smoke coming off it, no,’ Crystal agreed.

  
Roger looked wistfully at Crystal’s pint, then up at Crystal. Their eyes met. And Crystal was not wrapped around Roger’s little finger. He was not. He could refuse Roger.

  
He handed Roger his pint.

  
He was totally, utterly, wrapped around Roger’s little finger.

  
Trying to salvage the situation a little bit, he said: ‘When I get back from the bar I want your seat, though.’

  
Roger nodded. ‘’Kay.’

  
When he returned from the bar, fresh pint in hand, he was surprised when Roger stood up immediately to let him sit down. He should have known, of course.

  
He set his pint on the table, sat down, and Roger instantly plonked himself down on his lap. ‘Fucks sake, Rog!’ he spluttered.

  
‘Now we both have a seat,’ Roger pointed out.

  
Crystal sighed. ‘No chance of me getting lucky tonight now, is there? Everyone’s gonna think I’m with you,’ he grumbled.

  
‘Well, let’s face it, Crys, you were never likely to get lucky tonight anyway,’ Roger smirked.

  
He was a cheeky brat. But Crystal loved him.

  
Afterwards, Roger seemed to take it for granted that he could sit on Crystal’s lap any time he liked. He had always draped himself over Freddie and often sat on Brian’s knee. John, too, although Crystal thought that Roger waited for John to indicate that he was agreeable to that level of contact.

  
It was Ratty who pointed out that Crystal was the only non-band member Roger used as furniture.

  
They were sitting on the tailgate of one of the equipment trucks smoking cigarettes. ‘What’s going on between you and Rog, then?’ Ratty asked.

  
‘Nothing,’ Crystal bleated, startled.

  
Ratty snorted. ‘He clearly thinks the sun shines out of your arse. You are so far gone you can relate any fucking subject back to him...’

  
‘What?’ Crystal was genuinely baffled by this.

  
Ratty rolled his eyes. ‘The other night we were talking about bloody lasagne, of all things, and you started going on about how Roger was like lasagne: all different layers and really complex, or some bollocks like that. Lasagne, Crystal.’

  
Crystal blushed furiously. ‘I was drunk,’ he snapped. ‘Besides, he is interesting...’

  
Ratty laughed. ‘Tell him, you idiot!’ He jumped down from the truck and stood, looking up at Crystal. He pointed at Crystal with his cigarette in order to emphasise his point. ‘He’s crazy about you; you are crazy about him. Stop being an idiot.’ He turned and began to walk away.

  
‘He isn’t crazy about me!’ Crystal objected. Even if he was, he was Crystal’s boss. And Roger could have anyone he wanted. There was no way he would choose Crystal.

  
Ratty looked back over his shoulder. ‘Just keep being an idiot, then!’

  
*

  
“_Once I had a love and it was divine. Soon found out I was losing my mind.”_

  
It had been the day from hell and all Crystal had wanted to do was to collapse into bed and drop into a deep and dreamless sleep.

  
Alas, due to the last of the catastrophic series of errors that had been plaguing him all day, no hotel room had been booked for him.

  
It had started with a telephone call in the middle of the night. His cousin, more like a brother when they were growing up, had lost his battle with stomach cancer. He’d known it was coming, had said his goodbyes before leaving on the tour, but that didn’t make it any easier now.

  
And Ratty was ill, in the grip of a nasty bout of influenza, leaving him too weak to do anything. So when one of the equipment trucks had broken down earlier that day a sleep-deprived, grieving Crystal had been left to deal with it pretty much alone.

  
That truck had arrived late which had delayed sound-check, which Brian had been pissed off about, although really, Crystal thought, it had most impact on Roger, who had been phlegmatic about it, which Crystal was grateful for. He suspected Brian had just liked giving a lecture about the importance of sound-checks and how with a bit of forward planning and preparation the incident with the truck could have been avoided. The worst part had been listening politely to Brian while knowing that there were about a million other things he ought to be doing, since he was trying to do Ratty’s job as well as his own.

  
And that had been a complete and utter disaster.

  
The rushed sound-check had led to numerous issues during the show with exploding lights and un-tuned guitars and malfunctioning monitors. Roger had problems with his bass drum pedal and Freddie was apparently unhappy with the sound from the piano.

  
In his head, Crystal could hear a running commentary from Brian about how all of this could have been avoided.

  
It had not been their best show, all things considered, and Freddie vented his frustration on Crystal, in full view of the rest of the crew. ‘Really, darling, you’re a useless cunt, aren’t you? Why was everything such a fucking mess tonight? Why am I paying for this level of incompetence?’

  
It had hurt.

  
He had mumbled that he was sorry and had carried on with his job, helping to dismantle the set and pack all the equipment back into the trucks.

  
He thought he might be getting the ‘flu’.

  
Then, when he had arrived at the hotel, exhausted and in need of a long hot bath and an early night, he had discovered that there was no room booked in his name.

  
He had taken his suitcase and retreated to the hotel bar where he was ashamed to admit he was actually crying into his beer.

  
‘Crys!’

And of course Roger would find him.

  
‘I thought you were going to bed early! You could’ve come out with us! Everyone’s heading to Freddie’s room....Crys?’

Crystal stared fixedly into his almost empty glass. He had chosen to sit in the darkest corner of the bar, which was deserted apart from him. Even the man who had poured his pint earlier had vanished. There was absolutely no reason at all why Roger should have come in here.

  
He felt the weight of Roger’s arm as it was slung around his shoulders. Roger was wearing his fur coat. A cloud of cigarette smoke, sandalwood soap and a faint whiff of mothballs from the coat enveloped him. ‘What’s wrong? Is that your suitcase?’

  
‘Go to the party in Freddie’s room, Rog,’ Crystal sniffed, wearily.

  
He found himself pulled into a warm, furry hug. ‘Well, I can’t just leave you here. You wouldn’t leave me. Do you need somewhere to crash?’

  
Crystal nodded. It was taking all his self control not to dissolve into childish sobs on Roger’s shoulder. ‘I’m so tired,’ he moaned, unable to help himself.

  
‘C’m’on, then. I’ve got a room to myself, you can sleep there. I could do with an early night myself...’

  
So the first time he found himself sharing a bed with Roger was his own fault. He had tried to take the sofa but Roger had been insistent. ‘The bed’s huge. There’s plenty of room. I promise I won’t molest you, Crys.’

They had started out on opposite sides of the bed, well apart, but in the morning Crystal found Roger draped across him, blond hair fanning out across his stomach. Those big blue eyes had peered up at him. ‘Morning Crys. D’ya sleep well?’

  
He experienced a moment of utter panic before his memories of the day before crashed over him. He had slept well, actually, all things considered. And he no longer felt like he was getting the ‘flu’ which was an added bonus. ‘Thanks,’ he mumbled to Roger.

  
‘Couldn’t leave you to sleep on the sidewalk,’ Roger smirked. ‘It’s snowing out there.’

  
Crystal flinched as there was a thump on the door. ‘Rog? You awake? Time to get up!’ Brian yelled. The door handle rattled and Crystal wondered how he was going to explain being in bed with his boss. Admittedly they were both wearing cosy pyjamas and in fact Roger was more covered up than he usually was on stage, but it was potentially going to be an awkward conversation.

  
‘Don’t worry, it’s locked,’ Roger murmured, before yelling, ‘Okay, mate, I’m up, thanks!’

  
Freddie waved Roger over the second they entered the breakfast room. ‘What happened to you last night, dear?’ he demanded.

  
‘Found a damsel in distress in the bar,’ Roger replied with a wink. 'Needed a shoulder to cry on.'

'Did you now, darling,' Freddie murmured, glancing at Crystal knowingly.

  
Crystal felt his insides shrivel. He headed towards the coffee pot, desperately in need of caffeine and was rather startled to find Freddie next to him. ‘I hear you’ve had bad news from home, Crystal, darling. I’m so sorry for your loss. If you need any time off...’

  
He hadn’t told anyone about Charlie’s death. He was sure he hadn’t, so Freddie really must have some sort of magical powers. ‘Thank you, that won’t be necessary,’ he mumbled.

  
‘I feel I may have been a little hard on you yesterday, dear. You do forgive me, don’t you?’

  
Crystal nodded. He felt rather dazed. ‘Excellent! Do tell, Rog, will you? Last night he was going on incessantly about how unfair to you I’d been and you know what he’s like when he has a bee in his bonnet about something. Get him off my case, there’s a love.’ Freddie patted his arm and sauntered off.

  
And Roger could be mischievous and maddening but he could also transform Crystal’s heart into a puddle of molten glass.

  
*

  
They had been bickering all day. Roger had been trying to keep the peace, which Crystal was proud of him for.

  
Brian had now kicked off about the timing of the song they were currently practising. He was accusing John of being too slow. John had a look on his face that made Crystal wary. Roger, too, could see the potential for things to turn ugly, apparently. ‘That was probably me, Bri, sorry,’ Roger offered.

  
John snorted. ‘It wasn’t either of us. If anyone was playing at the wrong speed it was you, Brian.’

  
Freddie looked as if he was finding the whole thing highly entertaining. So no help from that quarter, then.

  
‘Why don’t we call it a day,’ Roger suggested, ‘I think we are all just tired. Maybe a good night’s sleep will put things in perspective.’

  
Brian had snorted. ‘Yes, that’s just like you, Roger, wanting to get to the pub early. As if you’ll get a good night’s sleep; shagging some random that you’ve picked up in a bar!’

  
Crystal had felt his hands clench into fists then forced himself to relax. Of course bloody Brian would make it personal. The fragile glass of his heart cracked at the brief hurt look that flitted across Roger’s face.

  
‘Is it Chrissie you’ll be sleeping with, Bri?’ Roger asked softly, ‘At least I’m single.’

  
For a moment, Crystal had thought Brian might actually hit Roger. Crystal had started to move, preparing to get between them, if necessary.

  
‘He hasn’t pulled in ages,’ John observed.

  
‘Not the slut he used to be?’ Brian sneered. ‘I’ll believe that when I see it!’

  
‘How do you know he hasn’t had anyone in ages, John, dear?’ Freddie asked, intrigued.

  
Roger was very still, which was a bad sign. Crystal edged towards him.

  
‘He told me,’ John replied, simply. ‘He’s saving himself for The One He Loves!’ he added, mockingly.

  
‘I told you that in confidence, Deaks,’ Roger said unsteadily.

  
John ignored this. ‘Roggie’s in lurve!’

‘Who with?’ Freddie demanded. ‘Why was I unaware of this? Roggie, darling?’

  
‘He wouldn’t tell me who with,’ John declared, ‘but I do know it’s a man.’

  
Roger was trembling, with rage, Crystal thought. He grabbed his jacket and stormed towards the door. ‘Fuck you!’ he shouted. ‘Fuck all of you!’

  
*

  
Rehearsal was over after that. Crystal began to dismantle the drum-kit. Ratty offered to help. ‘Nah, I can manage, thanks, mate.’

  
Other bands were also using the rehearsal space so they couldn’t just leave everything set up. John had a driveway the van could be parked in so they loaded everything in and out of the van each day and John drove it to and from the rehearsal hall.  
By the time Crystal had finished loading everything into the van only he and John were still there. John was avoiding his gaze. As Crystal slammed the rear doors shut and turned away he found John close behind him, staring at the floor. ‘Are you going to go after him?’ John mumbled.

  
Crystal had been considering this. ‘Nah, I reckon he needs a bit of time alone to cool down. Y’know, that was pretty cruel, John.’

  
When John lifted his head to meet Crystal’s eyes he looked miserable. ‘I know. I was hoping you might tell him I’m sorry.’

  
Crystal shook his head. ‘Reckon you are going to have to do that yourself, mate.’

  
*

  
“_Love is so confusing there’s no peace of mind.”_

  
The ringing phone jolted Crystal out of a deep sleep. He fumbled for the bedside lamp. Just after three a.m. He shivered as he got out of bed and stumbled to the phone, barking his shin on the coffee table. ‘Hello?’

  
‘Is that Mr. Christopher Taylor?’ a snooty female voice asked. He confirmed it was. She was calling from a hospital, she said.

She was calling from a hospital about Roger.

He drove to Roger’s place first, which he now had a key for. Roger needed a complete change of clothes, she had said. ‘He’s soiled his trousers,’ she had explained, sounding very disapproving.

  
Crystal had asked what had happened. ‘He claims to have been sexually assaulted,’ she had sniffed, ‘but they all say that, of course.’

  
The idea of his Roger having to spend a second longer than necessary in the care of that cold-hearted bitch spurred Crystal into action.

  
*

  
Crystal was not sure if the nurse who escorted him to the hospital cubicle allocated to Roger was the same nurse he had spoken to on the phone, but this one was a frosty cow too. She primly told him that Roger had needed stitches in his knife wound and that he was badly bruised. She gave Crystal ointment and painkillers for Roger.

  
There was a knife wound.

Crystal took a deep breath and followed her.

She swept back the cubicle curtains and Crystal felt his heart shatter into a trillion, a zillion, pieces.

  
Roger was huddled on the narrow trolley bed. His knees were drawn up under his chin and his head rested on them. Freshly washed wet blond hair obscured his face.

  
He was wearing a hospital gown, which he had pulled over his knees and was grasping the hem of tightly, with both hands. He was visibly shaking.

  
He looked impossibly small and Crystal wanted to bundle him up in his arms and take him away from this horrible place.

  
‘Mr. Taylor, your brother is here,’ the nurse announced.

  
Brother? ‘Roggie,’ he said gently, ‘it’s Crys.’ Roger did not respond.

  
‘We need the bed back as soon as possible, please,’ the nurse said crisply.

  
‘Yes, miss. Just let me get him dressed and we’ll be out of your hair.’ It took real effort to be polite to the miserable cow.

  
She nodded and left. ‘Rog?’ he tried again, ‘She’s gone.’

  
Roger stirred and looked up. Crystal could not help it: he gasped. He felt the splinters of his broken heart shatter into even more miniscule pieces, cutting him deep inside.

  
Roger had bruises in the shape of fingers around his mouth and jaw. Someone had evidently held his mouth shut with great force.

  
There was bruising around his left eye and more finger shaped bruising around his neck. Someone had tried to strangle him. Crystal felt sick.

  
There was a dressing on his neck too. He could see the bruises on Roger’s arms, where he had been forcibly held down.

Crystal edged closer, not wanting to spook him. He was glad to see the terror in Roger’s eyes replaced with relief.

  
‘Brought your clothes, mate. Do you need a hand getting dressed? I think you’ve overstayed your welcome with that nurse!’

  
Roger did not move.

  
‘C’m’on, love, let’s get you sorted out.’

  
The ‘love’ just slipped out. Roger didn’t seem to notice.

  
Crystal pulled very gently at the hospital gown. Roger obligingly wriggled out of it. Crystal inhaled sharply again. Roger’s torso was a mass of bruises. Crystal peered at his back and saw more bruising blooming there. One bruise was in the clear shape of a boot print.

  
He claims to have been sexually assaulted, she had said; claims. How could the stupid bitch have thought this was consensual?

  
‘You’re alright, darling, I’m here now.’ The darling slipped out too. Again, Roger seemed oblivious.

  
It was like dressing a small but obedient child. Crystal was glad he had brought loose clothing. He finished tying Roger’s shoe laces and stood up. ‘There. Let’s get you home. My place, I think, for a few days.’

  
He had made the decision to keep Roger with him, if Roger would allow it, when he had been fetching clothes for him. The idea of Roger returning to that freezing hovel with its frankly unsanitary shared bathroom appalled him.

  
Roger still didn’t speak, which was worrying. Crystal tried to think when he had last gone so long without hearing Roger and drew a blank. Even in his sleep Roger tended to mutter.

  
The clothes Roger had been wearing were in a plastic bag in a locker next to the bed. Roger’s cheeks flushed as Crystal retrieved it. ‘Come along then, lovely.’

  
If Roger noticed yet another term of endearment from Crystal then he did not comment. He shuffled along next to Crystal, shivering as they emerged into the cool night air. Crystal held out his hand and was a mixture of surprised, concerned and glad when Roger took it.

  
Once they reached the car, Crystal carefully wrapped Roger in the blanket he kept folded on the back seat. Roger folded himself up on the passenger seat, his knees drawn up to his chin again. He was trying to become as small a target as possible, Crystal thought grimly.

  
They drove to Crystal’s place in silence. Crystal gently assisted Roger out of the car and retrieved the bags from the back seat. Roger still had the blanket wrapped around him.

  
‘Home, sweet home,’ Crystal ushered Roger inside. ‘Not much, but all mine. Loo there; kitchen there; then the bedroom; and living space here, as you can see.’ Roger was frozen by the door. ‘Would you like a shower, Rog?’

Roger nodded frantically.

  
Crystal congratulated himself that he had turned on the hot water heater before leaving for the hospital. He opened the bathroom door. ‘Here you go, love. Towels are in this cupboard here. I’ll sort out some pyjamas for you...’

  
Once Roger was in the shower, Crystal turned his attention to the bag of soiled clothing Roger had been wearing earlier. It took a while to deal with them but Roger was still in the shower. Crystal knocked on the door. ‘You okay in there, Rog?’ A silly question, he knew: how could Roger possibly be okay?

  
Roger made no verbal reply but the sound of running water ceased. Crystal went to put the kettle on. Hot sweet tea was called for, he thought, for shock; almost as much for him as for Roger.

  
*

  
_ Noun: crystal: a piece of crystalline substance believed to have healing powers._

  
They drank the tea at the table. Crystal allowed Roger one of his custard creams which won him a very small smile.

  
‘I’m sorry,’ Roger choked out suddenly, startling Crystal. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you; to put you to all this trouble. I just....I....I wet my knickers....’ he gulped.

  
Sobs burst out of Roger. Crystal moved to the seat next to him. ‘Rog, can I hold you?’ he asked, a little desperately.

  
Roger scrambled over onto Crystal’s lap and clung to him, sobbing onto Crystal’s shoulder. ‘You’re safe now,’ Crystal assured him. ‘I won’t let anyone hurt you.’

  
‘I wouldn’t have called,’ Roger whimpered, ’but I needed clean clothes...’

  
‘I’m glad you called,’ Crystal murmured, stroking his hair. ‘Can you tell me about it?’

  
*

  
After storming out of the rehearsal room, Roger had wound up in a bar he had never been to before. He had drunk steadily, barely aware of his surroundings. No one had bothered him. He had assumed he was giving out ‘keep away’ vibes.

  
Eventually, he had risen, rather unsteadily, to go to the loo. The Gents was down a short corridor. Half-way down the corridor, a door leading into a back alley was propped open. As Roger passed the open doorway he was grabbed from behind, a large hand clamped over his mouth.

  
‘I struggled, Crys, I really did but he was bigger.’

  
He was man-handled out into the alley. A rough voice told him to stop struggling. The point of a knife was pressed to his neck, which was when he realised there was more than one man present.

  
Roger’s fingers gently touched the dressing on his neck. ‘This was from the knife.’ He flushed with embarrassment. ‘That was when I peed in my pants,’ he whispered. ‘They laughed,’ he added in a small voice.

  
Crystal felt another surge or rage against these men. He pressed his lips to the top of Roger’s head. ‘I’d have peed mine when I was grabbed, mate.’ His voice was not quite steady when he added, ‘You’re safe now, love.’

  
‘They said I’d been teasing them all night but I hadn’t noticed them, I swear! I didn’t lead them on, not intentionally.’

  
‘This was not your fault, Roger.’

  
*

  
The man holding Roger had got wet too when Roger had urinated and was enraged. He had slammed Roger against the alley wall and punched his stomach repeatedly. Roger had then vomited and this had also splattered on his assailant.

  
‘Next I knew I was on the ground and they were kicking me and I tried to yell, but...’

  
But one of them had pinned him down, seizing his jaw, clamping it shut. He could smell their sweat, their stale beery breath. He could feel hands grappling with his jeans, felt the cold air on his wet skin as he was exposed.

  
‘They took it in turns,’ he said, burying his face in Crystal’s shoulder. ‘There was three of ‘em. I tried to get away, I did...’

  
‘I know you did, love. You haven’t done anything wrong.’

  
Someone had stumbled into the alley and disturbed them. They had run off. Roger had been left laying there, his trousers bunched around his ankles.

  
‘The man who disturbed them called an ambulance but he left too. I...It wasn’t...I pulled my pants back up and it...I was...I wouldn’t have disturbed you, I swear, but I really needed clean clothes.’ He sniffed. ‘It wasn’t just piss...’ he confessed unhappily.

  
Crystal thought of the various bodily fluids staining the clothes he had washed for Roger earlier and held him a little tighter.

  
‘I’m glad you called me,’ Crystal assured him again. ‘And you’re safe now, safe with me.’

  
Roger was crying again.

  
*

  
Crystal offered Roger the bed. Roger rather shyly asked Crystal to hold him.

  
They had shared a bed before, of course. Roger had never cried himself to sleep in Crystal’s arms before.

  
*

  
‘Think you can eat something?’ Crystal asked gently, the next morning.

  
Roger shook his head. ‘Tea’d be nice?’

  
‘I’m gonna make toast, mate, and if you nibble some of it then you can have tea. You need to have food with your painkillers.’

  
‘I need the tea to wash down the toast,’ Roger protested, and it was the first even vaguely Roger-ish thing he had said since the hospital and Crystal wanted to cry.

  
He snorted instead. He was about to say something about forcing Roger to eat the toast and then the bruises along Roger’s jaw caught his eye. And that was a whole range of ‘I can make you’ humour unusable for the foreseeable future (possibly forever).

  
‘You can have yours in bed, like the diva you are,’ he offered instead.

  
‘We’re going to be late for rehearsals,’ Roger eyed the clock.

  
Crystal dropped the knife he had been buttering toast with. ‘You are in no fit state.’

  
Roger shrugged. ‘Have to be: tour coming up.’

  
*

  
He had been sitting normally until they got close to the hall they were rehearsing in. Then Roger huddled up again.

  
‘When they see you they’re gonna know something happened,’ Crystal started, carefully. Roger nodded. ‘Would you like me to go in first, to tell them?’

  
‘Would you do that?’ Roger sounded hopeful.

  
Crystal would do anything for Roger. ‘Yeah, course. How much should I say?’

  
Roger looked worried. ‘Will you have to tell them I wet myself?’

  
‘I was thinking I’d say you were assaulted. No details. Would you...? Do you want me to tell them you were raped?’

  
The ‘r’ word hung between them in the car like a sword.

  
Roger nodded. ‘Prob’ly best if they know.’

  
‘Including the others? Phoebe and Ratty and whoever else is there?’

  
Roger looked uncomfortable. ‘Yes,’ he decided. ‘They are going to find out at some point anyway.’ His fingers fluttered towards his black eye. ‘I can’t keep it a secret; might as well get it over with now.’

  
Crystal nodded. ‘Okay.’ He studied Roger. ‘Y’know, Rog, anyone would have wet themselves.’ Roger seemed awfully anxious about that.

  
Roger shook his head. ‘Freddie wouldn’t. Freddie would’ve fought them off. And Brian and John would never have been so stupid as to get into that position in the first place,’ he whispered.

  
He was crying again. Great, now Crystal had made him cry. He offered Roger a clean cotton handkerchief. He had taken a supply of them that morning, stashing them in various pockets.

  
‘I don’t think that’s true, love,’ he ventured. ‘They had a knife. They pretty much literally cut your throat...’ He shuddered. ‘Rog, you’re a biologist. You know you had a flight response, on top of having a full bladder. And flight was a bloody sensible response. Okay?’

  
Roger was still sniffling. Crystal reached out. ‘May I touch you?’ He waited for Roger’s little nod then reached out his hand and stroked Roger’s hair gently, pushing it off his face.

  
‘You haven’t done anything wrong, Roger. None of this is your fault.’

  
*

  
‘Can I put my arm around you?’ Crystal asked as they walked across the car park to the hall the rehearsals were being held in.

  
Roger had donned sunglasses so when he glanced across, Crystal could not tell what he was thinking.

  
‘Yeah,’ Roger replied. ‘Um...You don’t have to ask...’ he mumbled.

  
Crystal felt as if the zillion pieces of his glass heart had briefly re-assembled. He smiled. ‘I promise not to grab you suddenly.’

Roger nodded.

  
He settled Roger in the little kitchen area. ‘Do you want water; tea? Will you be okay here, while I go and tell them?’

Roger nodded again.

  
Crystal looked worriedly at him and gently smoothed his hair before going to find the others.

  
*

  
He opened the door of the rehearsal room to a chorus of:

  
‘Where the fuck have you been?’

  
‘What time do you call this?’

  
‘Oh, it’s you. Where’s Rog?’

He glanced around and noted Ratty, Phoebe, Paul Prenter and Jim ‘Miami’ Beach.

  
He took a deep breath. ‘Roger was attacked last night.’

  
Brian snorted. ‘You mean he got into a fight at a pub?’

  
‘I don’t think that is what he means, Brian, is it, darling?’ Freddie stepped towards Crystal, looking concerned.

  
Crystal’s hands had clenched into fists. ‘I mean,’ he said through gritted teeth, ‘that he was gang-raped and badly beaten up.’  
There was a collective gasp. ‘He has had hospital treatment,’ Crystal continued, ‘and he is here.’ He held up his hand in a stop gesture because Freddie was quite clearly about to run out and find Roger. ‘Wait. I don’t think he is fit to play but he insisted. He also asked me to tell you all what has happened. Let me go and get him...’

  
As he turned to the door, it opened and Roger slipped in. ‘’M here,’ he mumbled. He sidled towards Crystal.

  
There was another collective gasp as those assembled saw the livid bruising on Roger’s face and neck. ‘Oh, darling!’ Freddie was close to tears and hurried towards Roger, hands outstretched.

  
Roger made a little strangled noise in his throat and danced out of reach behind Crystal. Freddie looked devastated.

  
‘Right, then,’ Crystal said loudly into the awkward silence, ‘Let’s get your kit set up then, blondie.’

  
*

  
“_I’m the one you’re using, please don’t push me aside.”_

  
It was no longer hospital policy to strap up broken ribs, apparently, so Crystal had strapped Roger’s ribs himself. If Roger was hell-bent on playing then Crystal reckoned it was his only hope of lasting more than a couple of minutes.

  
In fact, Roger lasted much longer than Crystal had anticipated. He was a stubborn fool, of course, and Crystal should not have been surprised.

  
Crystal was hovering just behind the drums, like a mother anxiously watching her child trying to walk for the first time. He was perfectly placed to catch Roger when he fainted and toppled off his stool. A cymbal crashed to the ground with him.

  
Crystal ignored the concerned voices around them and focussed on Roger. ‘I’ve got you, mate,’ he murmured, as Roger stirred in his arms. ‘You fainted,’ he added as one blue eye opened. ‘Guess your painkillers have worn off, huh?’

  
‘Roggie, darling,’ Freddie crouched next to them. ‘What do you need?’

  
‘He needs to go home and rest,’ Crystal snapped.

  
‘He shouldn’t be alone. You can come home with me.’ Brian, John and Freddie all said the same words at exactly the same time in spooky agreement.

  
Roger blinked dazedly. He was suddenly tense in Crystal’s arms. ‘I...’ Roger tried to twist in Crystal’s arms, attempting to see Crystal. The movement made him hiss with pain.

  
‘Easy,’ Crystal murmured.

  
‘I’m staying with Crystal,’ Roger stated firmly. ‘That is still okay, isn’t it?’ he asked anxiously.

  
‘That is still just fine,’ Crystal assured him.

  
‘Well, that is very kind of Crystal,’ the nasal whine of Paul Prenter said, ‘but I’m sure you’d be more comfortable with Freddie, now, wouldn’t you?’

  
‘When you say ‘staying’ with Crystal...?’ Brian was looking suspiciously at them.

  
‘Crystal picked me up from the hospital last night,’ Roger mumbled.

  
‘What?’ Brian exploded. ‘I’m your best friend! Why didn’t you call me?’

  
Silence followed this outburst. Crystal assumed that, like him, everyone was contemplating why Roger would not have called Brian.

  
It was John who said it: ‘Well, you did call him a slut yesterday, Bri.’

  
Brian whirled round to face John, his fists clenched and his face red. ‘And you betrayed his trust!’

  
John looked uncomfortable, as well he might, Crystal reflected. ‘About that, Rog...’

Roger had made himself as small as possible again, huddled against Crystal. ‘It doesn’t matter, Deaks.’ His voice quivered. ‘He won’t want me now, anyway, will he? Not now I’m damaged goods.’

  
Miami cleared his throat. ‘Crystal, I think you ought to take Roger home as soon as possible. Tomorrow is Sunday, so no rehearsals. He’ll have a chance to rest and then perhaps we can try again on Monday; not for a full day, of course.... Ratty, can you oversee packing away the drum-kit?’

  
Ratty agreed that he could. Crystal carefully helped Roger to his feet. ‘Thanks, Miami.’

  
Miami nodded. He stepped closer. ‘Did you speak to the police, Roggie?’

Roger shook his head. ‘They didn’t believe me at the hospital,’ he whispered. ‘They said it was my own fault; that I should be more careful who I went home with... And I tried to tell them I hadn’t, I did, but they weren’t listening...’ He was crying again.

  
‘We know it wasn’t your fault,’ Miami assured him gently. ‘If you would like justice then we can pursue it?’

  
Roger shook his head. ‘I can’t, Miami, I just can’t. I know that might be cowardly of me...’

  
‘It’s not cowardly, Rog. I understand,’ Miami told him softly. ‘It’s your choice.’

  
‘Thank you,’ Roger mumbled.

  
‘Rog, may I touch you?’ Miami held out his arms and Roger fell against him, accepting his embrace. Crystal was close enough to hear Miami say: ‘You know, Roggie, everyone’s just worried about you, however oddly they might show that. We all love you.’

  
‘Thanks,’ Roger muttered. He glanced tearfully at Brian. ‘Calling Crystal was practical,’ he announced, voice wobbling, ‘Freddie can’t drive and you two,’ he indicated John and Brian, ‘have other people in your homes that I would’ve disturbed.’ Tears spilled down his face. ‘It wasn’t because I don’t love you!’

  
Crystal felt his heart explode again, glass flying everywhere, cutting him. He had been the most practical solution. Of course he had. (Another quieter voice in his head told him that Roger had been in no fit state to consider practical solutions last night but it was a little voice that was easily drowned out.)

  
‘Oh, darling!’ Freddie was also crying. ‘Darling, please, I need to hold you...’

  
Roger was wrenched out of Crystal’s arms. ‘Be bloody careful with him, Fred!’ Crystal snapped. ‘He’s bruised all over!’

  
Disentangling Roger from Freddie, then Brian, then John took some time. Roger was shaking and crying and looked very unsteady on his feet. Crystal carefully escorted him to the door, one arm around him, supporting him.

  
Freddie followed. ‘He lets you touch him without asking first,’ he said, accusingly.

  
‘Yeah,’ Crystal agreed. ‘He does.’ He’d had more than enough of all of them and he let the door shut in Freddie’s face. ‘Gonna lift you,’ he told Roger. ‘Okay?’

  
‘Lift me?’

  
‘Can you walk?’ Without waiting for an answer, Crystal scooped up Roger as if he was a bride Crystal was carrying across a threshold.

He found the lack of protest from Roger disturbing.

  
‘Feel like a proper damsel in distress now,’ Roger mumbled as Crystal negotiated the steps down to the car-park, and that was more like it.

  
'Just be grateful you've got such a perfect knight in shining armour,' Crystal said and was glad when Roger snorted and swatted his shoulder.

  
*

  
_ Adjective: crystal: “clear and transparent like crystal”._

_  
_ He was rather proud of himself for managing to unlock the car and open the door while still clutching Roger, who had lapsed back into silence. He gently placed Roger on the passenger seat. Roger immediately huddled up, telescoping into himself.

  
Crystal crouched by the open car door, looking up at Roger on the seat. Roger’s face was hidden, pressed against his knees, his hair fanning out in a protective veil. ‘You know, we talked about this,’ he reminded Roger. ‘You were supposed to tell me when the pain became unmanageable.’

  
Roger did not look at him but did mumble, ‘I didn’t think I’d faint, Crys, sorry,’ into his knees.

  
Crystal sighed. He reached for the blanket, which he had returned to the back seat of the car, and carefully tucked it around Roger.

  
Closing the passenger door he loped around to the driver’s seat. Settling in, he reached for his cigarettes. ‘Want a smoke, love?’

  
Roger peeked at him. He nodded. Crystal lit two cigarettes and passed one to Roger, who unfolded himself in order to smoke it.

  
‘Are you angry with me?’

  
Roger sounded so broken that Crystal could hardly bear it. He felt the shattered pieces of his heart crunch painfully against each other.

  
‘No,’ Crystal blew a series of smoke rings. He wound down the car window to allow some of the smoke to escape. ‘I’m not angry. When have you ever done as you were asked, eh? I’m well used to it!’

  
He was alarmed when this elicited a gasping sob from Roger. ‘Do you think that’s why?’ Roger sniffled.

  
‘You’ve lost me, blondie, do I think that’s why what?’

  
‘Why this happened to me. Is it because I’m bad? I don’t do as I am told. I disappointed Miami in there; upset Freddie. I upset everybody...’ Roger glanced anxiously back towards the rehearsal hall.

  
Crystal took a deep drag on his cigarette. He reached over to Roger and gently tangled his fingers in Roger’s mop of hair. Roger leaned in to his touch, like one of Freddie’s cats wanting petted.

  
‘This happened because the bastards who attacked you are evil scum. You did not do anything wrong.’

  
‘I’m not a good person. Brian said I was a slut. I think maybe I hurt people’s feelings... They were all upset today because of me...’ Roger whispered.

  
‘You are a good person, Rog. Brian didn’t really mean that, you were rowing, things get said during rows, you know that... You didn’t upset them today, either, Roggie. The situation is upsetting.’ Crystal felt useless; helpless. As always, he resorted unthinkingly to humour. ‘Anyway, you may never have done as you are told but I love you anyway!’

  
He hadn’t meant to say that.

He really hadn't meant to say that.

The silence in the car seemed ripe. Roger’s eyes, bloodshot and puffy from crying, stared at him. ‘Say that again, Crys?’ he croaked.

  
Shit.

  
Still, he had done it now.

  
‘I love you. I think I might have loved you from the moment I saw you, Roger Taylor.’

  
Roger gulped and gestured vaguely towards himself. ‘Even like this?’

  
‘Always,’ Crystal said simply.

  
Roger’s head pressed against Crystal’s hand, his fingers still entwined in Roger’s hair. ‘Having the hospital call you last night _was_ practical,’ Roger said, ‘but when I asked them to call you it was because I’m in love with you, too, and it was you I wanted, you that I needed.’

  
Crystal considered this. He blew another series of smoke rings. ‘Reckon that makes us both a couple of total idiots, then,’ he concluded.

  
*

  
Roger simply stayed with Crystal. His belongings appeared gradually; a framed photograph of his mother and sister here, a scarf draped over a lamp there.

  
The bruising healed. Emotionally, his improvement was also gradual, a work in progress.

  
Ratty was both delighted and furious. ‘I put a bet on you two never fucking getting together!’ he fumed. ‘You were so bloody clueless!’

  
They were in Athens when one of the local crew at the venue the band was playing told Crystal that his name had a Greek root.

  
_ Krustallos. Ice. Crystal._

  
Ice.

  
He told Roger later, when Roger was snuggled against him in their bed his blond hair tickling Crystal’s bare chest. Roger frowned, peering short-sightedly at him. ‘That can’t be right, Crystal. You’re the warmest person I know.’

And his heart might be a fractured lump of glittering glass but it was full of love all the same.

**Author's Note:**

> To all who made it this far: thanks for reading! 
> 
> I read somewhere that Freddie swung on a chandelier at (I think) one of Roger’s birthday parties but in my head Roger has already been there and done that... 
> 
> Possibly best not to try it with your chandelier at home.


End file.
